Indulgence
by TheMillionthMind
Summary: Chris runs into Wesker at the residence in the courtyard outside of the mansion. After saving his captain's life, he's pulled into a nearby room and punished for his recklessness. Chris/Wesker slash BEWARE.


((Okay, so this is the first fic I've written in a long time and the first Resident Evil fic I've actually posted. Do beware of slash and sexual content and don't flame me if you click this because it's clearly Chris/Wesker slash. Don't steal my story or claim it for your own, and all that jazz.

DISCLAIMER: I don't claim any ownership of the characters depicted in this story, nor do I intend to profit from it, other than comments and constructive criticism. Resident Evil, its story, and its characters belong solely to Capcom. Thank you.))

They were fighting. Full-out, fists flying, legs flailing, loud grunts of anger, pain, and the occasional expletive falling from their lips in a twisted mantra of two angry men determined to show the other what for.

The younger of the two and lesser S.T.A.R.S. operative, Chris Redfield, swung only because he'd been swung at. Pent-up frustration and that one hit was all it had taken the sharpshooter to fight back against his captain.

He'd just knifed a zombie in the forehead and he'd ended up getting punched for it.

For some reason, Chris found defying Wesker exciting. Maybe it was that hotsy-totsy attitude the blonde seemed to wear on his sleeve, or the way he frowned upon seemingly everything and everyone but himself, or even that motherfucking no-nonsense mannerism of his.

Or perhaps it was just the sunglasses. But either way, this hadn't been the first time Redfield had wanted to smash his captain's pretty little face in.

The fact that they were stuck in a zombie-infested house directly outside of a zombie-infested mansion with a surrounding zombie-infested garden certainly didn't make the situation any better.

They were stirring up quite a racket, but Chris didn't care. Even over the sound of fist against flesh, he could hear the dull groans of infected awaiting them just outside the door. But for now, they were safe.

They had time to settle this.

Both men were aching by now. They stood a few feet apart, eyes fixed upon those of each other, both of their bodies bruised and bleeding.

Wesker rolled his own eyes (which were no longer concealed behind his sunglasses, since Chris had taken the liberty of oh-so-painfully removing them), then took a step forward. Only after wiping the blood from his nose, he reared forward and swung hard at Redfield's stomach. The brunette stumbled backward and coughed, managing a glare in the direction of his captain afterward. He was about to swing right back when he found himself face-to-face with a swift, rough kick to the chest.

Albert Wesker was rightfully S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team's captain, judging by his quick thinking skills and outright lack of fear to strike if the need arose. Chris knew this before, but the kick was a decent reminder and he soon found himself reeling backward and falling on the ground with a soft 'thud.'

The blonde took Chris' moment of catching his breath to approach his subordinate, his expression as cold and stoic as ever.

"I didn't swing at you to start a fight, Chris." Albert said, bending down to pick his sunglasses up. He quickly returned the shades to his face before continuing, "consider it a punishment for your reckless move."

"Reckless?" Chris scowled, promptly sitting upright. "I saved your ass back there!"

"At the potential cost of your own life." The captain sighed, seemingly oblivious to his bleeding nose and swelling left cheek. He really didn't want to deal with the work that came with losing an operative and trying to find a replacement.

"You should be thankful." The brunette grumbled as he got to his feet and brushed himself off. "I could've just let them eat the sunglasses right off your face."

Wesker's voice hardened only slightly. "_You _should be thankful, Chris," He started, his expression serious as ever, "that your reprimand was a fist to the face rather than a discharge."

"Fine." Redfield knelt down and picked up the gun he'd dropped by the door when he'd been 'reprimanded,' then took hold of the doorknob before him. "I'm gonna continue my mission."

Wesker's usual frown darkened into a slightly more frustrated one. "Stupid move, they're right outside the door."

Chris wanted to scream, but he managed to slim it down to a growl as he wheeled around on his spot and glared at his captain. "They'll always be right outside the door." He said with a somewhat calm voice. "We can't just wait in here 'till we rot and die. Or worse, 'till Jill or Barry end up dead."

"If you'd shut up, they might become less aware of our presence." Wesker retorted without a second thought. "And we could catch them by surprise."

"Or we could wait so long that we end up dying of starvation."

"Just listen to your orders, Redfield." Wesker's voice was calm; the only hint of anger being the fact that he was now referring to Chris by his last name.

Chris scowled.

He turned away.

He returned his gaze to his captain.

He punched.

The S.T.A.R.S. captain was somewhat surprised by the hit, which came in contact with the right side of his face, causing him to let out a grunt of pain and stumble back, hand slipping up to grab the newly-injured spot.

"I could fire you for that."

A punch, this time from the blonde, knocking Chris back once more. But unlike last time, the brunette was ready and lunging forward, fists swinging once more. Somehow, he managed to tackle Albert to the ground.

They rolled around, fists swinging and bloodying lips, noses, and whatever else they could reach, mouths etched into angry grimaces, teeth showing. Chris swung, Wesker rolled him over. Wesker swung, Chris shoved him away. It was more repetitive than a rap song, but neither man really cared. They just wanted to bash each other's faces in.

"This is ridiculous." Wesker snarled and tackled Chris down to the ground in an attempt to pin his red-faced subordinate. "They're going to hear us and come bursting in."

"Don't make up excuses." Redfield grumbled, even though he could hear the yawns of the zombies just outside the door. He shoved his captain away once more, then rushed over to the door. "I'm not finished yet." With that, he promptly moved a bookshelf next to a typewriter in front of the door, then returned to his captain and swung again.

By now, Wesker was ready to dodge, and he did so, quickly wheeling around and sliding his foot outward. Redfield found himself tripped and fell on his bottom on the ground, scowling a bit in pain. He didn't have long to react though, given that Wesker was back in his face and had swung at him again.

"Tell me when you've had enough." The blonde spoke calmly, then aimed a punch at Chris once more. Despite the fact that he was pinned, the brunette managed to dodge the attack by rolling his head quickly to the side, then shoved him back.

He panted for several seconds, sitting in a squatting position, eyes locked on Wesker.

"You're too conceited for your own good."

But his eyes sure were pretty.

Wrong time to be caught adoring his captain's pretty eyes.

And that slicked-back hair of his looked awfully…disheveled.

Chris cursed himself for feeling a twinge of arousal at the less-stable version of his captain kneeling before him.

He panted.

He groaned.

He lunged.

Their lips smashed together with enough force to knock Wesker backward as Chris kissed him roughly. The S.T.A.R.S. captain grunted in surprise, then pushed Redfield backward.

"What the hell are you doing?" He demanded, but it was impossible to tell just how he was reacting behind those sunglasses.

Chris paused, then shrugged. "I dunno. Take your sunglasses off."

"No."

"Yes."

Smash.

In an instant, the sunglasses went flying to the side as Wesker was hit once more on the side of his face. But before he could react, he was tackled to the ground once more, their lips pressed together rather against his will.

Determined, Wesker drew his fist upward and punched Redfield in the stomach, knocking the younger man backward and onto the ground. The room was small, but it seemed huge while Chris' vision was spinning.

"I'm not gay." The blonde spoke calmly, yet firmly. "So cut it out."

"I'm not, either." Chris answered as he attempted to catch his breath back, sitting upright. "But I'm hard and you're here."

"Don't behave like a teenager." Wesker drawled with a roll of his eyes. He stood, looming over Redfield, who was now in a sitting position.

Which is why the brunette had to point out the obvious.

It stuck out like a fucking sore thumb. How could he resist?

"You're hard, too." He stated plainly, one hand pointed in the direction of Wesker's crotch, where the bulge in his pants told Chris all he needed to know.

"It's all part of human instinct." Albert defended quickly, yet calmly.

"So act on it." Chris' words earned him a swift kick to the chest, knocking him backward and onto the light-brown wooden floor. He responded with a grunt, then sat back upright and glared adamantly up at his captain.

Yeah, he knew he was acting like a nymphomaniac, but he was not going to lose this fight. Wesker didn't need the ego boost.

It wasn't that Redfield _wanted_ to fuck his captain. He was just _really_ turned on at the moment, and for socking him earlier, Chris thought the blonde deserved a good lesson.

And then there was the way those bright blue eyes glared down at him. His hair somehow survived the ordeal, though a few strands dangled over his forehead and decorated his bruises and bleeding nose with just a little more disrepair.

He looked so fucked up, and Chris' cock seemed to twitch every time he stole a glance.

Maybe he did want to fuck his captain—but just a little.

Chris stood up and grinned, then took a step toward the blonde. "Keep your lips away from mine—" Wesker had attempted to say before a hand firmly settled itself on his crotch. He froze, then brought a hand up to Chris' throat. "Don't touch me."

But the expression on Chris' face was enough to tell that the brunette wasn't giving in. He was having too much fun. "Asphyxiation?" He joked. "Are you really into all that kinky stuff, Captain?"

That was it. Wesker's lips finally curled into a frown and he shoved Chris backward by the neck until the brunette's knees buckled against the side of the bed and he flopped backward onto the mattress. He heard the other's head come in contact with the wall against which the bed rested, but he didn't care.

Tension. He was just getting rid of tension. He was hard and Chris was here. Nothing more.

Lips coated with blood pressed roughly against Chris' and he relished the taste of the blood and saliva and just Wesker that came in contact with his lips and tongue. It didn't take long for the brunette to slip his hands downward and start fumbling with his own jeans, the belt buckle coming undone rather easily before he got to work on the zipper. Not long after, Wesker's hands were at his own crotch and fumbling with his clothing. Knuckles thumped against each other and the blonde's hand swatted away the brunette's, making the younger man scowl.

"Don't be an ass." He growled as he arched his hips to slide his pants down—hips that, probably for the only time during this little escapade, accidentally ground against Wesker's hand.

"Don't be so eager." Eyebrows rose and the minute Albert's pants were down, he seized Chris by the shirt and hoisted him up. Wesker's knees rose onto the bed and he pinned Redfield against the wall, an odd grin forming on his lips. Despite the blood running down from his nose all over them, those lips still looked delicious. Chris groaned, but not for long before two fingers penetrated him, making him grunt loudly in surprise.

"That's right, Chris." The blonde returned the growl, his fingers pushing further into the brunette's entrance. "You sound just like them. They'll never suspect us now."

"Fuck you." Chris spat, but despite the anger in his voice, his body came down to meet the scissoring and pushes of his captain's fingers. Another sound fell from his lips—a dull, low moan.

"Have patience." A smirk, followed by a rough, hungry kiss—mainly to shut Redfield up, Albert reassured himself.

For the first time over the past few minutes, the groan that left the brunette's lips was one of frustration. He wanted to beat the shit out of the blonde—to mash that gorgeous face in—but his body was a bit…preoccupied. And even had it not been, Wesker had him pretty well trapped in his grip. It wasn't easy to escape from being pinned against a wall, another man's fingers knuckle-deep in your ass.

Well, they were. But Wesker had soon retracted them and was positioning his—throbbing, Chris noticed—manhood where the fingers had once been.

Redfield couldn't believe he was actually letting a man—much less an asshole like Wesker—fuck him.

His eyes scrunched shut at the searing pain he felt when Wesker's length—which lacked any lubrication, he'd realized—push past the first portion of Chris' opening. Instinctively, hands slipped backward to brace themselves against the wall behind him, but they were covered in sweat and blood and merely slipped against the hard surface. That in mind, he instead drew them forward and braced himself on his captain's shoulders as the older man filled him to the hilt.

If Chris' face could get any redder, it did. Tiny beads of sweat formed at his forehead. His hands gripped the clothed shoulders tightly. Eyes remained shut.

"That fucking hurts."

"Don't complain. You asked for this."

Chris frowned. "I didn't ask for you to shove your dick up my ass."

A firm, upward thrust was enough to shut Redfield up. The top portion of his body shot forward and Chris found himself biting hard on his own gloved hand, which was still clutching his captain's shoulder, to keep from yelling. He didn't like the idea of being discovered by zombies—or even Jill or Barry, for that matter—in a situation like this. He was sure Wesker would agree.

Several thrusts later and the pain lessened. The friction left their bodies white hot and Chris was sure his body had grown numb from the ministrations.

That was, until a grin flashed over Albert's features and he angled himself, thrusting upward and striking Chris' prostate dead on. The blonde had to resist a chuckle when he felt that body jerk in response to the feeling, then come crashing down to meet his movements.

And then they were at it. Screwing like animals, bodies finding no real rhythm, just desperate to reach their climax. They were doing this to get off, and nothing more.

Chris would agree, he liked the feeling of closeness with another individual after encountering a place like this, but he sure as hell wouldn't admit it aloud—especially not to Wesker, but the blonde seemed pretty oblivious to his subordinate's emotions, anyway. He was solely focused on the actions—the reason his stomach was tightening and his body was on fire with pleasure.

Redfield was curious. Wesker perplexed him. The S.T.A.R.S. captain didn't seem fazed by much, and when he reacted, it meant there was hell to pay. But it had always been interesting to do or say little things to see what he'd do. Watching that stoic expression leave his face was something Chris had prided himself in before he'd ended up in this place, where he was sure he was going to die.

That was why he didn't mind seizing his captain's vest and tugging the older man forward into yet another kiss, tongue probing, breath heaving.

He wasn't tossed away, nor was he told to focus on the task at hand. Instead, the blonde's pale legs crawled higher up onto the bed and shoved Redfield harder against the wall, those lips meeting his once more in a fierce, desperate kiss.

A hungry little nibble on his captain's bottom lip and another thrust downward and Chris had managed to push the blonde right on into his climax. The white heat painting his insides was enough to send the brunette over the edge right with him and soon, they were both panting, riding out their orgasms with heavy breaths and red faces.

They managed to separate and Chris rested on the bed, back still against the wall, as he tugged his pants up from his knees and buckled his belt. A similar click from a few feet away and Redfield knew his captain was doing the same thing.

Despite the fact that this whole thing had started because they were fighting, the brunette was still surprised to feel the impact of a fist against the side of his face, forceful enough to knock him sideways onto the bed. However, he reeled back upward and shot the blonde a glare.

"What the hell!?"

"You got come on my vest."


End file.
